Black Sheep
by MaplePucks
Summary: A bomb is dropped on England's head as he learns his people will vote on whether to separate from Europe or not. Perhaps it is true what France had always told him. He was the Black Sheep of Europe. *FrUk, angst*


**Hello all! Enjoy this fic! Primarily because I've been in a FrUk mood lately and also I've heard of the troubles in England right now. Political troubles suck.**

 **Also, I've been reading A LOT of Gregory Maguire lately. If you haven't read his books, you should. He has a very depressive and dark tone to his novels though. I think that's where this came from.**

 **Anyhoo! Reviews and helpful comments are appreciated, sil vous plait! ^^**

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So that was it then? All that work for absolutely nothing. All those years of sweat and literal blood, in the name of Europe gone to waste. It all boiled down to a vote amoung the people now. Truly, it was hard to determine what side the people would fall on. They had surprised him in the last election, voting to keep the current Prime Minister. Stupid sod of a man.

England angrily stuffed his papers into his satchel, avoiding everyone in the Parliament, and ignoring their pleas for his input on the situation. Why did it matter now? It wasn't as if his opinion ever really mattered anymore. Besides, the current heads of state seemed resolute in their decision.

The population of the United Kingdom would soon be voting on whether they wanted to be considered a part of Europe. Or not.

The proud Briton bade them all a very stern and cold good day before stomping out. He saw no reason to stay in the meeting. Clearly they could manage without him. Not so much as a consultation about the issue! Just out of the blue, there it was, on the meeting floor. The least they could have done, out of professional courtesy, was to inform him it was coming up. At the very least. England poured over the meeting's agenda briefing packet on the train home. Nothing. Not even a hint this was coming. Had the old codgers in Parliament actually intended to keep this from him?

Or was it that they enjoyed seeing him become upset? Did even his own countrymen despise him that much?

England stared out of the window, unseeingly, as the city gave way to countryside. Honestly, the thought shouldn't hurt so much to a Black Sheep like himself. He'd spent his whole existence being mocked and isolated. But, he found he couldn't quite pull the knife out of his heart, twisting and burning as it was.

A short while later, he was standing beside his car in the station parking lot, looking at his reflection in the tinted glass. Haggard and slightly disheveled. No worse the usual though, after one of these Parliament meetings. His current house guest would probably not even notice anything was amiss. It would be like any other time he'd come home. Barking mad at first but then they would settle into a quiet evening together. Something to look forward to actually. Someone who truly cared about him and his well being.

He poured himself into the car, throwing his bag haphazardly into the passenger seat, not caring one bit if papers slipped out into the floorboard. Useless waste of trees at this point in time. England patted his cheeks a few times, roughly, before leaving. Riding a train completely lost in abusive thoughts was one thing, driving a car was another. Needed his wits about him if he wanted to avoid any embarrassing headlines that would bring even more shame on his head.

For a brief moment, he thought about pulling into a pub. Having a pint or two. The afternoon was still fairly young and his guest wasn't expecting him in till after dinner time this evening. It wouldn't be such a bad thing to stop by. But every time he thought about turning, planned it out, something stopped him. His people, the common folk, the ones who had just betrayed him by putting that idiot of a man into office again. They were there. Drinking, laughing, not a care in the world. Most of them happy with the results. Not realizing they were literally driving their own country away from the rest of Europe.

There was no way he could go in there and face them. Be with them. Pretend to laugh with them. No. For the time being. He was alone, just like old times and it would stay that way. At least until he got home. A nice cup of tea was better then a pint any day. And also, he would be in good, loving company.

Well, he would have been if there was someone home.

Pulling into his driveway, he furrowed his brow and looked around. That fancy blue sport car he had expected wasn't there. And it was never parked inside of the garage, out of view from nosy neighbors. It was always there, in plain sight, the jealousy inducing pride mobile that it was. England parked his own and got out, feeling a little dejected. Why wasn't he here? Where could he have gone? Again, another surprise without notice at all. Not even a phone call.

England gathered his papers and went into his house, closing the door behind him with an echoing snap. It was quiet. Just the clock ticking in the hallway was the only sound he could pick up. His eyes had a hard time adjusting to the lack of light. The sun was not yet setting, it was early afternoon, sunny for once in his country, but it was dark in his foyer. He laughed with mirthfulness at it. Even the weather was betraying his mood and trust. He just couldn't win today.

He was standing in the foyer for God know's how long. Alone, utterly alone. He had left him. News had to have gotten out to the public. Broadcast on the radio or news that England was going to be voting on basically it's freedom from Europe. And the man he loved had ran. Just like like that. It would hurt the vain bastard's pride to be seen with someone outside of Europe. England should have seen this coming back in Parliament. It was inevitable.

Was it an hour or two before he willed his muscles into moving from where he'd rooted himself. He'd been lost in thought, completely. It wasn't so hard for him, he did it all of the time. This time was a lot different though. He needed to make himself a cuppa to rid himself of those dark thoughts.

One foot was in the kitchen when he heard keys in the door. It creaked open and with it came the sound of brown paper bags being shifted along with a familiar, very welcomed voice.

"Arthur? I know zhat you are 'ere, mon amour, I saw your old car in zhe driveway. Mon Dieu, I don't recall leaving zhe curtains drawn, it's so dark in 'ere!" France called. By the time England made his way back into the foyer, he was blinded by a bright ray of sunshine and golden hair as France flung back a curtain. He blinked in disbelief.

"You're here..." England said, and was met with a scoff.

"Of course I am 'ere, you knew zhat I would be. Zhe question is, why are you 'ere? Did your meeting end early? I did not expect you 'ome so soon. I 'ad a fabulous surprise dinner planned out for you." France almost pouted, shifting two very heavy looking grocery bags in his arms. England went over at once, grabbing one of them to France's relief. He bounced it in his arms, shocked at the weight.

"Well, no one said you still couldn't cook for me, even though I'm home early. Also, no one said you had to buy everything in the local market. France, it's only the two of us! You've got enough here to feed my entire Parliament House!" He exclaimed cringing at his own choice of words, following France towards the kitchen. The Frenchman shook his head.

"Do not exaggerate, Arthur. I bought enough to cook you zhe usual four-course meal. All of your favorites, you are in for a special treat!" He smiled, placing the bag on the counter. England's mouth watered and his stomach grumbled despite of his current depressed state. He followed suit and then turned to wash his hands.

"All right, fine. If you are going to go through all that work, at least let me help, now that I'm here." England said, hoping for a distraction for a little bit. He couldn't do much, but he was good with a knife at least. But France placed a kiss on his cheek.

"Non. Zhe kettle is cold, meaning you either 'ave not made your tea yet or it's been too long since your first cup. I insist you take a moment to 'ave zhat. Zhen, I will allow you to 'elp, if I am on a step you can 'andle, oui?" He winked, going so far as to pull a mug down and England's stock of tea bags. The Brit hardly had words for France right now. It was just like him, in the privacy of their own home, to be so kind and caring. He loved how tender and gentle France could be if he really wanted to be.

England took took the mug and set to work making his tea. Once that was steaming in his hands, he settled himself at the kitchen island to watch France at work. It really was a pleasure to watch the man cook. And it provided just enough distraction so that he wasn't so overwhelmed with the days events. A flourish there, a flare here. A real show. To think France was just doing prep work made England chuckle just a little shaking his head. France knew he was watching and was doing it on purpose.

But once the last dregs of his tea had been drained, England started going over everything in his mind again. Leaving Europe. It wasn't certain it was going to happen, depended on the vote. But, then again, his people had just surprised him with the last vote. Sometimes, they could be so thick.

Then a sudden thought hit him.

France must not know about the upcoming vote. No public announcement. If he had, he would have mentioned it right away. England groaned very softly as he pushed himself to his feet. He had to tell him. Right this moment. It couldn't wait, though he really wanted it to.

He went over and wrapped his arms around his lover's waist, hugging him from behind. France didn't even flinch. Not even the littlest bit. As England laid his head to rest on France's shoulder blade, the Frenchman kept dicing but looked over his shoulder, frowning.

"Mon amour? Zhis is very unlike you, not zhat I mind at all, zhough. Tell moi what is wrong, sil vous plait."

England took a deep breath, inhaling as he felt France exhale beneath him. "France...something happened at the meeting today. Something I need to tell you. I don't know how you're going to take it-"

"Is it about my Black Sheep finally leaving Europe?" France asked suddenly and England blinked, letting go of him, moving to his side to stare at him.

"How did you know?" He asked back, swallowing hard. France put down his knife and reached up to run his fingers through England's hair.

"On zhe radio, while I was 'eading to zhe store. One of zhose quick little news breaks zhat zhey do. I knew zhat you wold leave zhe meeting after you found zhat out, so I 'urried as fast as I could. And you still beat me 'ere. I must 'ave been moving slower zhen I zhought." he chuckled and hugged England close to his chest. The Brit was confused, not returning the hug right away and speaking muffled into France's chest.

"Then why did you come back? I'm not going to be one of you all any more. In some regards, I think that's what the rest of Europe has wanted since I was a child. I'm not sure what will happen." He looked up into France's eyes. "I'll just be my own island, floating out here. I doubt I'll be made a new continent, I'm too small. But...if I'm not a part of Europe, what will I be France? Who will I be? I just-" He worked tears into his eyes but France place a finger on his lips.

"Shush now, mon lapin. I came back because I love you. Zhat is zhe simple truth. I knew you would need me 'ere. A shoulder to lean on for support." He winked and smiled down lovingly. Even England chuckled. He continued, "As for who you will be, let us wait until zhe vote 'appens. Zhen, we will figure it out together. I will be by your side no matter zhe outcome." He said softly. England raised an eyebrow. He was skeptical about that last bit. How did he know France wasn't going to turn tail and run away?

"What proof do I have that you aren't just filling my head with words I want to hear? I've been fed those lines by people before." He said, pulling away and crossing his arms, as if a chill just passed through the room. Prussia. America. They had both told them the same thing. Where had that led? One was now independent, the other, nothing more then a painful haunting memory. France held out his hand, tapping his fingers as he went.

"One 'undred years under zhe Entente Cordial, two world wars, a couple of terrorist attacks, amoung other zhings. But most importantly," He pulled England into a hug, arms still crossed and all. "Je t'aime. He whispered.

It took a moment but England finally relented into the hug. He leaned up and kissed him chastely on the lips. "I love you too, France. I shouldn't have been worried, I'm sor-" He started but was whopped in the head, lightly by a wooden spoon.

"No, you shouldn't 'ave been. Now, stir zhat pot before it boils over, mon amour."


End file.
